


On my own terms, unconditionally.

by DeadDrabble (MisakillDatMonkey)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Mention of switch dynamic), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Canon Universe, Competitive Assholes, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, M/M, POV Sakusa Kiyoomi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, Rough Sex, Tender Sex, Top Miya Atsumu, Understanding & trusting each other, learning to be together, obscene language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/DeadDrabble
Summary: Sakusa gets to find his way along a simple journey: the one where he learns how to love Atsumu on their own silly accords. And Atsumu is there to trip with and guide him each step of the way.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 297





	On my own terms, unconditionally.

Kiyoomi’s muffled groan is lost in the mess of ruffling sounds as he gets pressed face first into the mattress. Atsumu isn’t especially gentle, but not only does Kiyoomi not care about it, he doesn’t want him to _stop._

His veins are thrumming with adrenaline, they stumbled out of the excruciatingly long diner hands glued to each other like two hormone-crazed freaks and they haven’t been able to keep their hands off the other since Kiyoomi made Atsumu duck inside a cab.

There were gentle touches, desperate ones, then more subtle exchanges when the driver almost lost patience, sending murderous glares to both of them through the front mirror… But most of all, there was a lot of pent-up frustration.

“That game is stupid, ’m not playin’ anymore,” Atsumu snarls from behind him, nuzzling the side of Kiyoomi’s neck, eventually biting him where his shoulder meets his nape.

“You say that all the time,” Kiyoomi manages to answer without sounding too breathless, pushing his hips back to try and fit against Atsumu’s body.

Atsumu, as if on cue, withdraws entirely, getting on all four over Kiyoomi’s form so their bodies aren’t touching anymore.

Kiyoomi falls back against the mattress, biting back a desperate moan. Now they’re playing? He’s going to kill the guy… But before that, he rolls on his back, fingers hooking in his lover’s tie to finish what they started earlier against his door and get rid of it entirely. Atsumu looks down, pupils blown wide, his eyes two black holes in the darkness already surrounding them. Kiyoomi gets rid of the tie without ever breaking eye contact.

His turtleneck is somewhere on his bedroom floor already, the piece of silk sliding smoothing from around Atsumu’s neck to join it unceremoniously. 

“Rule number two was smart, rule number three is a fuckin’ nightmare!” Atsumu hammers and Kiyoomi can feel as well as hear his fists clenching slightly over the sheets, on each side of his face.

“How surprising! You only call them _rules_ when you want to make me sound like a dictator or prove your point. Wasn't it you who set that second condition?" he asks, refraining from rolling his eyes. 

"Because we were playing like a pair of _dicks_ the very next day and you got angry!" Atsumu protests, ignoring the bait. “Can’t walk, can’t spike, that easy!”

"You were the one sulking, Miya!" Kiyoomi reminds him, tension rising up in his shoulders again.

"Well, yeah! My sets were lousy as fuck, it felt more like I had the _whole_ team in my bed the day before rather than a certain _someone_!” Atsumu whines, as classy as ever. “Setting that condition was the obvious way to go." 

"Gross. So what you're saying is that you can go with the no sex before game policy but asking for no filthy quicky in the bathroom when we have a mere thirty minutes ride home is going too far,” Kiyoomi scoffs, quirking an eyebrow.

Fine. They’re both riled up, but Atsumu has a lot less self-restraint than Kiyoomi does. Especially after a whole week spent on the court for official games and they haven’t touched each other in as much time if not a little longer. 

“You only said no sex in a public space!” Atsumu counters, as if it was a solid point.

His eyes drift down toward Kiyoomi’s throat, then his bare chest. It’s still heaving a little from them rushing to the bed while devouring each other. It distracts Atsumu enough to startle at the next uproar.

“A fucking outrage now that I look back on it! Poor Atsumu! What was I thinking!” Kiyoomi pretends to gasp, propping himself on his elbows.

Damn, he wants to kiss that dumbass so bad, and he’s a little concerned that the need doesn’t decrease proportionally to the amount of idiocy Atsumu can spew by the minute.

“What about _empty_ public spaces, then! Are they really public if there’s no one around to see!” 

Atsumu punctuates that question by pressing Kiyoomi down on the mattress with a hand on his chest, leaning into him so they can breathe the same air. Still far from what they actually _crave._

“What a great thinker! I said I was open to reconsider some things as we go but if you think you’re helping your case by bringing up a shitty blowjob offer in the bathroom of an izakaya, you’re a total moron,” the Kiyoomi deadpans, grabbing a fistful of Atsumu’s collar.

It might be dark but the moonlight filtering through the window is enough for him to catch the cunning smile playing at the corner of his lover’s lips.

Their noses bump together, and suddenly, Kiyoomi tackles him to reverse their positions. 

They wrestle a little, Atsumu’s shirt gets lost in the process, until he’s effectively held down on his back, Kiyoomi straddling his waist.

There are two sharp and simultaneous intakes of breath following the little strife and Kiyoomi can’t help but roll his hips languidly. They’re both hard enough for it to be uncomfortable at this point. Kiyoomi’s fitted jeans feel rough on his crotch, Atsumu’s slacks are too tight…

“Okay, then, alright Omi-omi! Great, good, _I see how it is_ ,” Atsumu kind of stammers in a frenzy, voice wavering a little. “Then lemme bring an amendment to the table.”

"An amendment?” Kiyoomi asks, the circling motion of his hips coming to a brutal halt.

“Yeah. I don't know. These are guidelines, right? Remember when we agreed to no holdin’ back on the innuendos? That’s verbal, right? I’m a loud mouth, you’ve got your silver tongue, so there’s a rule for that. Well, I’m saying no more riling the other up with _touchin’_ now. You’re better than some unfair competition, are you?” Atsumu taunts him, his hands trailing up along Kiyoomi’s arms, barely teasing his skin.

It sets him on fire all the same. Kiyoomi swallows a little difficulty, eyes narrowing into slits. 

“That’s some serious level of bullshit,” he breathes out, hands digging in Atsumu’s shoulders so he can push himself up enough so their clothes erections are merely brushing. “You’d let me talk dirty to you in front of the coach but I can’t—”

“Uh uh,” Atsumu clicks his tongue repeatedly. “No sex in public, then no touchin’ under the table in front of our teammates, Omi. That’s fair. I know it’s a little difficult to get for a sadist like you but—”

“A sadist like _me?_ Are you _serious_ right now, Miya?” 

Kiyoomi can’t be hearing what he thinks he’s hearing right now. Not that he doesn’t have a little kink for making Atsumu’s life, say… complicated. But that accusation is especially hypocritical on Atsumu’s part and he’s not going to let it go that easily. A sneer curls on Kiyoomi’s lips as his hands travel from Atsumu’s shoulders to the base of his throat.

They settle there, not moving, just resting against his skin and he can feel Atsumu’s throat _clicking_ under his touch. _Perfect._ Now to deliver a quite fatal blow.

“Who got off on watching me _choke_ the other day?” he asks, voice low and inquisitive.

Atsumu's eyes go insanely wide. Kiyoomi can feel him try to blend in with the mattress before the protest even comes:

“It wasn’t like that! Oh god, Omi, I told ya... You were just so—stop it! We’re not changin’ the subject.”

“I almost died choking on your dick and you got off!” Kiyoomi pushes, feigning being wounded.

“Poor timing!” Atsumu yelps, hands suddenly flying to grab Kiyoomi’s wrists and snatch them off his neck.

“Whatever, asshole. I’m not being guilt-tripped for trying to get my hands down your pants when no one was watching when _that_ thing happened!”

Atsumu’s frown tilts down a little more, the room tilts upside down entirely.

“These two things aren’t related,” Atsumu complains as soon as he’s rolled them over.

“You’re right. They’re not, because you were enjoying it, back at the restaurant. Weren’t you?”

Kiyoomi’s glare dares him to deny. Instead of right our negating the claim, Atsumu gets even more heated.

“Are you for real? The great Sakusa Kiyoomi got no lesson to give when you came ’n asked for more from chokin’ on—”

“Timing!” Kiyoomi snarls, crushing their lips together aggressively in a vain attempt to cut off the argument.

Atsumu pins him to the mattress immediately, holding Kiyoomi’s wrists above his head with one hand, the other grabbing his chin. Kiyoomi can feel his cock twitch in his stupid fitted jeans and hates them all the more.

For a moment they hold each other’s intent gaze, neither of them inclined to let go. They’re being silly, Kiyoomi is well aware, because it’s obvious they both want to get down to it, and sooner than later. Knowing it doesn’t make him look away in the least anyway. They really deserve each other.

The only thing left is to throw Atsumu off or they’re going to spend the night stuck there and Kiyoomi isn’t dying of frustration in his own bed after a week of watching Miya Atsumu parade around the court and flex like the smug b—

“God, I want to eat you out.”

“Sorry, what?” Kiyoomi almost chokes on the word, eyes snapping wide open.

Look who threw the other off. Atsumu doesn’t seem that proud of the little effect he got on his lover, but Kiyoomi knows it’s only because he’s more focused on ravishing him than he is on keeping score. That in itself is a pretty serious sign that now isn’t the time for silly little games anymore.

They’re at their limits, if Atsumu biting into Kiyoomi’s collarbone and sucking a mark over the imprint of his teeth in earnest is any indication. That was the first request on the table between them when they got together, one demanded by Kiyoomi, destroyed by him too, and no longer than on their second _secret_ tryst at that. 

That's when Atsumu had said they should be more laid back about everything. He had had a grand speech about how rules were meant to be broken, that they weren't soldiers or robots. 

Kiyoomi, wounded at first, had thought Atsumu meant that he was too uptight until he had started spewing less nonsense about guidelines and more about the fact that he just meant to say that he wanted Kiyoomi to be his _boyfriend_ — simple as that — and maybe he wanted their approach of the situation to be a little more romantic. 

Kiyoomi had been so _affected_ Atsumu had walked out of there with a nasty set of possessive hickeys, and since then, the set of _rules_ has turned into an occasional pretend to mess with the other or the rulebook of an absurd game none of them really know how to make sense of but find thrilling nonetheless.

Kiyoomi knows that if any of them had to draw a line, they would say it naturally. They did before, never with the slightest ounce of resentment. And it makes his chest feel tight every time he realizes how easy it is to trust each other and learn to be more than just partners on the court. How breathtakingly easy it has been since the first day to communicate their needs and what they expect of each other.

Sometimes silently. 

Sometimes intimately. 

Sometimes openly, when anyone could see. 

They’re not slick, anyway. Kiyoomi knows Atsumu didn’t mind in the least them playing with fire back at the izakaya because they might be the last two who like to pretend no one knows what happens the moment they’re alone together.

It’s only been four month, they could keep the façade for half the time in front of the others, and in between they’re still blatantly and obviously tripping on their feet to find a rhythm. 

It would be easier if not everything turned into a fierce game, but Kiyoomi is certain they’ll have all the time in the world to get to the part where they’ve sorted it out and can enjoy the quietness. He would never have thought that he’d treasure his various slip-ups nor that he would see Atsumu enjoy his own missteps.

Right now, Kiyoomi’s about to lose a round and doesn’t even care, his eyes rolling back as Atsumu’s body presses into him. Kiyoomi parts his legs to ease the pressure, exhaling softly when they start grinding against each other. The pace gets frantic fast and Kiyoomi’s little moans turn into groans of frustration at the growing incomfort between his legs.

Atsumu finally resurfaces from the crook of his neck, looking feverish with his swollen lips and his hungry eyes gleaming in the dark. Kiyoomi tugs on his wrists, arching off the mattress enough to hint his urge to _move_ and touch him too.

Atsumu releases him, cupping his face and pressing needy open-mouthed kisses along the sharp cut of his jaw instead. He sits over him to let Kiyoomi work on their belts and flies, hands too tempted not to roam downward the moment their pants aren’t in the way anymore.

Atsumu’s fingers run down the tensing muscles of Kiyoomi’s abs as he rolls his hips down again and Kiyoomi curses against his lips.

“Can I?” 

“Mmh?” he feels too dizzy to elaborate the question.

“Eat you out.”

Not so dizzy anymore.

“Shower!” Kiyoomi hisses, head lolling back as Atsumu’s hand breaches past his boxer’s hem and curls around him deliciously.

“Please?”

“I said—”

“Shower, ye, but y’know I don’t care, Omi,” Atsumu reminds him not for the first time, tongue flicking under Kiyoomi’s ear and wrecking his whole body with an intense shudder.

Kiyoomi clings onto his lover’s shoulder blades, nails raking nasty red marks in their wake.

“I’ll reconsider the shower policy another day, Atsumu,” he hisses impatiently, hips bucking into Atsumu’s grip.

His ministrations stop, Kiyoomi thinks he’s about to explode.

“You will?”

“Atsumu, _please,_ not now,” he doesn’t want to sound like he’s begging, but it’s difficult not to lose it.

Atsumu shouldn’t be the most composed one when he was a stuttering mess at their table an hour ago while Kiyoomi was stroking him over his pants like the sneaky little bastard he can be when the setter challenges him.

And even when it’s not about their games, Kiyoomi just _wants_ him. He would never have thought that he would ever want someone like he does Miya Atsumu but it’s there, that insane little voice at the back of his head constantly tormenting him.

Kiyoomi has always been so focused on his path, and suddenly he can’t align two thoughts without a smug grin flashing behind his eyelids, without seeking golden eyes across the court, without wondering what the simplest mundane things would taste like if he was to share them with Atsumu.

He’s not obsessed ; just like every other thing in his life, Kiyoomi just wants to carry things through all the way. Except he never wants to be through with Atsumu.

 _Never…_ That’s slightly dizzying everytime Kiyoomi has to admit he’s in so deep.

Fortunately he can trust his lover to be insufferable and make him forget how hard he’s falling for him. 

“True that when you start begging like this, it’s easier to imagine you on the masochist side, Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu teases, easing his grip around his cock to slow down to a lazier pace, fingers barely curling around the head as he focuses his attention there.

Kiyoomi’s jaw clenches and he has to refrain from squirming. His eyes send daggers instead. Atsumu is breathing hard and he’s been rutting against Kiyoomi’s thigh for a solid minute now ; yet he still has the nerves to pretend he’s not all that affected.

“You’re either fucking me in the next ten minutes, or you lose your chance and when I’m done with you, good luck explaining to the team why you can’t do your famous split set.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Atsumu purrs in the crook of his ear, teasing him more than he’s stroking him now. “If ya think you can _ruin_ me—”

Kiyoomi snaps, ready to kick him off but Atsumu is faster. The moment he can hear the last of Kiyoomi’s restraints fall apart, Atsumu flips him over, shifting all his weight on him to keep Kiyoomi facing down. 

Atsumu nudges his legs apart to slip a thigh there and presses up between them, setting Kiyoomi’s body on fire to match with his temperament.

“Now, now,” he whispers against the shell of his ear. “I said I wouldn’t mind, not that I’m letting ya do it.”

Kiyoomi grits his teeth, ready to bark back, but Atsumu emphasises the words by _finally_ getting down to it. He removes his leg and drags both his and Kiyoomi’s boxers down, but not past his knees, the garment stuck around his thigh and restraining his movements. 

Just when Kiyoomi is about to complain or remove them himself, Atsumu’s hands settle on his thighs, heavy and warm, and he presses his lover’s legs together. 

Kiyoomi’s heart flips in his chest when he feels Atsumu’s thick and hot cock drag along the sensitive flesh at the back of his thighs and he shivers all over again when Atsumu’s hands move higher, cupping his cheeks and parting them slightly to slide between them.

“Shit,” he blurts out. “ _Finally,_ ” Atsumu’s relieved moan gets lost right into his ear, the head of his cock catching at Kiyoomi’s rim, smearing pre-cum along the way.

Kiyoomi fists a handful of bedsheets, turning his face to hide in the nearest pillow, but he doesn’t get to.

Atsumu’s cock plunges between his thighs and one of his hand knots at the back of Kiyoomi’s head, tugging on the dark curls until he's craning his head back enough for his lover to lick into his mouth.

Kiyoomi can’t hold back the blissful moan that bubbles in his throat as Atsumu starts pumping his hips. He arches his back, chasing the friction, humping lazily against the mattress as he lets Atsumu devour him, fucking into the tight gap formed by his thighs languidly.

The urgency seems to have faded away for a moment, the time for them to relish finally being together.

Atsumu’s kiss gets deeper and more demanding as seconds tick by and Kiyoomi’s finds himself craving for more than the burning trail between his legs. He parts away, pressing his ass up into his lover’s hips, flexing to reach for the drawer of his nightstand. Atsumu’s hand closes over his when he retrieves the items he’s been seeking. They exchange another burning kiss as he passes the bottle of lube to Atsumu and drops the condoms on the bed near their bodies.

The lid cracks open in the dark, Kiyoomi’s legs part again in a new yet familiar reflex as he arches his back like a stretching cat. The moonlight is enough for Atsumu to see the perfect curve of his body and if Kiyoomi learned anything over the last months, it’s that his partner is rather _weak_ for any display of how pliable he can be. 

In bed, sure, but it’s even more thrilling to see him fidget during practice when the wing spiker stretches out and they both know what goes through Atsumu’s head at the sight.

Like music to his ears, he can hear Atsumu curse somewhere behind him, can’t help the stupidly smug grin that plays on his lips as he buries his face in the pillow and perks his ass up a little more. 

He jolts a few seconds later when slick fingers press against him and entirely loses it when Atsumu pushes inside. It’s been a little over a week yet it seems like ages. 

Kiyoomi can’t remember how it was before that afternoon when Atsumu kissed him in the shadows of the tiers. 

He can remember everything since they met, but somehow it's unclear how they behaved around one another before he sent that flirty joke toward Atsumu's way — one too many, some would say they're really not slick — and Atsumu dragged him under the tiers by the hem of his sleeve to press a tentative kiss to his lips. 

Kiyoomi loves that it's the only time Atsumu went over his boundaries. He loves that he’s the one who actually led him to talk about his discomfort with PDAs and to establish the no sex in public policy… 

When he looks back, the general guideline they adopted either comes from needs expressed by Kiyoomi when he wasn't sure on how to proceed further or when Atsumu felt that he wasn't ready or up to something long before he knew it himself. 

Kiyoomi is overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him. It's absurd to get carried away like that. Atsumu will soon be two fingers deep inside him, trying to search for his prostate and—

"Fuck!" 

_Finding_ it. Kiyoomi's romantic little surge is sent back to the realm of his fantasies and he's trying not to writhe away from the touch. 

He can't help it, it's systematic, as they found out pretty fast. And as sure as he is to undulate under Atsumu's touch, overwhelmed and getting in his head, Atsumu's soothing hand appears at the base of his spine, sliding up his long body gently, his thumb tracing each dip and bump along his backbone, invisible knots disappearing on the way. 

Somehow he still hasn't stopped to ask if Kiyoomi is okay with being at the receiving hand every now and then. Kiyoomi knows that after today Atsumu will ask again. He stopped being offended, because just like the rest, Atsumu does it to make sure that he's still comfortable with him. Comfortable, period. 

There never was a guideline when it comes to that, they go with the flow without a preference. The only thing they agreed on when it comes to preferences of the sort is that they like it better when they become one together. 

The rest would be minor details to deal with along the way, antics they'd have to learn about, boundaries that would make themselves clear, others that are vanishing over time as they get more and more comfortable around each other. 

Kiyoomi tilts his hips back, pushing against Atsumu's hand without a second thought, the need to make him feel wanted stronger than the overwhelming sensations wrecking his mind and body. The need to get closer to him fiercer than any lingering apprehensive thought. 

Atsumu's clean hand ends its journey at the base of Kiyoomi's nape, curling around the side of his throat, calloused fingers trailing a myriad of touches that are as many silent reassurances for Kiyoomi to know that he’s safe with him. 

His other hand starts to work faster, his fingers relentless, when he feels Kiyoomi's form go pliant under him again. 

It's always a little unnerving to see a mass of muscles and strong hands that could break you go unyielding under your touch. Kiyoomi knows the feeling too well himself not to revel in Atsumu's trembling respiration when he moves to drape himself over his back. 

His arm snakes under him, wrapping around his torso to pull Kiyoomi flat against his chest. He could crush him, really, but all Atsumu is set on destroying is Kiyoomi's grasp on reality. 

His chest feels so tight again when Kiyoomi gathers his thoughts long enough to find he wants more and he's ready to move forward at the exact instant Atsumu's weight disappears off his back. He _knows._

A throaty moan gets stuck on the tip of Kiyoomi's tongue at the loss he suffers the moment Atsumu kneels behind him to prepare himself. 

It's not so dark anymore, although they're well into the night — Kiyoomi's eyes adjusted to his surroundings, his ears trained to recognize each and every sound his partner makes. 

Maybe he can see a little too well, he thinks when Atsumu flips him over again and Kiyoomi witnesses the mess he's indirectly made of his lover. 

He's as disheveled as if he'd been the one thrashing in the pillows a minute ago while he was picked apart around three fingers. 

Kiyoomi sucks in a sharp breath, looking up with determination. Atsumu's question dies on his lips as Kiyoomi drags him down in a demanding kiss. 

Atsumu is always teasing about how he's the one to have thighs of steel but the ridiculously hot groan he lets escape when Kiyoomi's legs wrap and clamp around him confirms the his win on this one. 

Atsumu never parts away from him, the kiss turning downright messy as he changes his angle to push inside him all the way. 

Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to get as loud as he wants knowing Atsumu will drink any sound he'll give him. 

Who would have thought Kiyoomi was loud in bed… neither of them, despite his sharp tongue. 

Everytime he looks back on Atsumu's eyes going absurdly wide the first time he cried out under him, Kiyoomi gets a little too hot and bothered, a little too smug too, for someone who can't stand losing control. 

It's Atsumu, it doesn't matter if Kiyoomi loses it a little here and there, abandons himself to Atsumu… He's in the right hands. 

Atsumu rolls his hips, _whimpering_ against Kiyoomi's lips more than he really kisses him. A given with a preparation as minimal as Kiyoomi could stand without snapping and after going days without sharing a bed. He's so _tight,_ Atsumu's pressure inside him is overwhelming, overpowering any sense of shame the man knows. 

Kiyoomi's nails rake down his shoulder blades, his thighs wrapping higher around Atsumu's back. He's clinging to him as if his life depended on it and Atsumu is giving him everything he needs. 

He can't even thrust that fast or deep to begin with from how much his lover clenches around him. Kiyoomi parts away to let him catch his breath when he feels Atsumu’s arms shaking slightly against his own where he propped himself to avoid crushing Kiyoomi entirely. 

Atsumu gives him a crooked little smile of his own, looking down at him in a daze. He looks as drunk on the feeling as Kiyoomi feels high. 

He lets Atsumu's back rest for a moment, hands going over his head, falling flat against the wall behind him so he can use it to push down against his lover. 

Atsumu's low moans egg him on, and his attempt at hiding them by abusing the line of his jaw with a dozen new biting marks even more. 

That's exactly the kind of moments they'd use to tease each other at times, but they're too engrossed in finally tasting each other again to compete for the biggest idiot title right now. 

Heat builds at the pit of Kiyoomi's stomach as they move together, breathe harder and harder, as Atsumu breaches inside him deeper. 

Somehow it's still not enough. The words are out before Kiyoomi can hold them back, gasped as he arches his back at an insane angle, meeting the last of Atsumu's thrusts deliciously. 

"Harder!"

It's an order. Way more intimate but as trustful as any command Kiyoomi can give Atsumu on the court when he's asking of him to push his body further. 

Atsumu has no self-awareness when it comes to the limits of his own body, and Kiyoomi, as meticulous and thorough as he is, can't really judge him when they're together and challenging one another. 

I'll show you I can take more, let me give you more… I want your everything. Kiyoomi never verbalizes them, but the words are always there when Atsumu takes him or gives himself to Kiyoomi. 

It's always unconditionally. 

"Atsumu, _more_ ," Kiyoomi goes on as if his lover hadn't already picked up the pace, gone crazy at the first request. 

Kiyoomi’s expensive queen-size bed _creaks_ under them as Atsumu fucks him into oblivion. They’ve been teasing, they’ve been rough, they’ve been stupid, gentle, passionate, now they’re desperate.

Atsumu’s thrusts get erratic, pounding him into the mattress relentlessly. The groans he knocks out of Kiyoomi with each snap of the hips turn into breathless, almost silent cries as Kiyoomi tries to hold on the sheets, on the wall… anywhere but Atsumu’s hair, least he’d be too rough.

Atsumu touches him, envelops him, holds him ; burying himself inside him over and over and refusing to let go.

The room is filled with hoarse cries and obscene slapping sounds going crescendo until the last string snap. Kiyoomi’s torn scream melts away with Atsumu’s shattered attempt at calling his name as the bed hits the wall a little too loudly. 

The spell is broken.

Both bodies glistening with sweat freeze in the dark — or as close as it gets while they’re panting heavily, shivering as the adrenaline ends its course through the last of their nerves.

Atsumu is the first one to crumble, his arms giving up as he crawls to nest closer in between Kiyoomi’s legs, nuzzling the side of his neck. His breath is hot, his lips are chapped. Kiyoomi wishes he could get closer.

“Oh my god, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu groans, grinding lazily into him more than he is thrusting.

He’s still hot and thick, pulsing inside him. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to get away but he needs to breathe.

Unclenching his thighs from around Atsumu’s waist is a painful ordeal, his muscles scream and burn… he’ll be so sore in the morning. He still manages to part them without wincing too noticeably. Kiyoomi doesn’t need much to get them to cooperate again, he’s still so hard himself it’s a wonder how he didn’t come yet and he wants it.

Rolling them over is surprisingly easy because kissing his lover while doing it is easy, and because nothing is impossible when strong arms hold him and he holds back the person who matters the most to him. 

Kiyoomi can’t bring himself to push himself up and ride him really. His adductors are on fire. Instead he entangles their legs, undulating over Atsumu, thrusting his tongue inside his mouth as languidly as Atsumu is thrusting into him. 

There’s an unspoken rule, a policy of his own Kiyoomi has followed for as long as he can remember, one he never discussed with Atsumu because that limit is his own little challenge to overcome. There are unspoken _words,_ some Kiyoomi has never voiced to anyone for as long as he can remember…

As Atsumu’s arms circle his body and he kisses him like Kiyoomi means the world to him, he thinks that soon enough he’ll be ready to shape them. 

It’s nothing but a guideline, the kind he’ll hold onto until they’re ready to call each other “mine.” 

The friction between their bodies, the overwhelming attention Atsumu surrounds him with and the building heat brings Kiyoomi to the edge. He moans Atsumu’s name against his lips. Just like that, they tip over together, melting into one another, way more quietly than they’ve been up until now.

Kiyoomi’s heart still feels like it could explode long after they’ve come down from their high because Atsumu won’t let go of him. 

They’re sticky, hot and sweaty. It feels gross and the air around them is cooling already, sending uncomfortable chills down their sore bodies. Yet, when Kiyoomi looks up to search his favorite pair of golden eyes in the dark and they gleam back at him…

He knows that soon, he’ll be ready. 

That Atsumu and him have a long way to go, have a long path to walk together, learning to know each other still ; they’ll compete to understand the other better, to tick their pair off faster but there’s a game they’ll lose each other to entirely and without ever looking back.

There are unspoken words Kiyoomi thinks he can hear as Atsumu lingers on his lips with one last kiss before he gets them to clean their mess and Kiyoomi knows that soon, he’ll be ready to properly confess.

**Author's Note:**

> They're just so in love, they make my chest hurt ♥
> 
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